


an act of god

by literaryFRIVOLOUSneophyte



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types, Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: Drug Use, Drugs, Gen, Stream of Consciousness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-09
Updated: 2014-09-09
Packaged: 2018-02-16 19:17:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 783
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2281497
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/literaryFRIVOLOUSneophyte/pseuds/literaryFRIVOLOUSneophyte
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>grantaire's on some wild fucking drug trip and javert brings him home. that's it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	an act of god

the sky 

the gray-faced sky, the definition of solemn grimness, looked a tad bit worried

the gray-faced sky sighed and a gust of cool night air slapped him in the face with unheard-of softness

he was spinning, not in circles but in squares, because he was always one to argue

his pupils blew up to the size of the sun and he stared down at the earth, in all directions the same shade of black looked at him kind of funny and asked his name, he nodded and laughed and gave the pseudonyms of several irrelevant poets who died years ago and were probably greek

the ground was frosted over in hair and he reached out a hand to steady himself on the sideburns, his mouth tasted like dirt and his tongue tied up into heart-shaped knots and wobbled in his throat, he coughed.

his eyes stung and red cracked through the pores of his skin, he felt the roots of plants tearing themselves out of his body and sputtering on the floor, he radiated heat, which body was his own? rough hands gripped him by the shoulders and shook him. he felt like a bloody animal surrounding by a painting of lovely reds

no, scratch that, his pool of blood was mostly some awkward mix of green and brown, not even a proper pool, more like a splattered masterpiece, and someone got their gloved hands all over his canvas and what kind of man tries to take the paint brush right out of the busy artist's fingers

the cosmos came up behind him and rubbed his aching back in a terrified, stubborn way, the stars mingled with his flesh and his spine and he reached for the gap between the sun and the planets but before he could touch the blackness,

paris reared up under his chin and buttoned up with bony fingers, the hands of poverty, the wrists of “liberty,” of “government,” he spat out something nasty about the police force and the justice system in the dirty face of the republic but the flash of gold that appeared under his unlucky eyelids was too bright, he turned quiet and it was not out of respect

but not before the universe heard him and thrust a cup of

water? in his shaking hands

he thought he heard words. he mumbled a sarcastic apology, he heard the earth moving under him, but away with him, so he must have learned how to fly

“Grantaire? Grantaire?”

what poor bastard had that for a name

“He's not under arrest, right?”

a fissure opened up in the surface and a

“I am getting sick of his metaphors. He keeps babbling and drooling on me like a child.”

earthquake made the cup of water in his hands, perched like a wobbling bird, teeter all over the dry ground

“Well, he's probably not drunk. He's got a stronger stomach than that to end up like this. He probably took some-”

“I am now subtly reminding you that I am a police officer, and I recommend that you do not finish that sentence unless you don't like your friend.”

he rolled on his side and groaned because, he did not have any more colors to describe himself or even that cup to cling to.

a hand went out to steady him, and he looked up at the cluster of lights that were not quiet golden but yellow enough to burn his fool eyes, but the curve of the night sky recoiled from his orbit

faintly he saw a figure take shape out in the unknown, and he called out the first name that toppled over into his lap

“No, I'm not Courfeyrac, I'm Combeferre. I'm hoping for the sake of my feelings you just mixed up our names because they both start with C.”

“I should be on my way. I have work.”

“Oh! Well...Of course. Thank you, Inspector, for bringing Grantaire here. I'm very thankful-”

“No need.”

and with that he felt the universe at his side turn cold, and his eyes rolled around in the shadows until they latched onto a figure standing – oh his head hurt. burned.

“Are you finally waking up? You won't believe who brought you here. He just swept in, carrying you like a corpse – I thought you were dead at first! Gave me a fright.”

oh the sad state of hell festering in his skull

“Must have been some kind of act of God for that inspector to show you some mercy and not have you thrown in jail. What did you do to make him spare you? Oh – if you're going to pass out, please don't try to stand -”


End file.
